


113 Rue de Rivoli

by meganthewriter



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:36:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4181814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meganthewriter/pseuds/meganthewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mademoiselle Hannah St. Martin never wanted to be a part of the Revolution, but when her family's humble bakery is violently attacked and burned by rebels, she has nowhere else to go. Together with self-proclaimed leader and visionary Michel, his best friend and handsome sort-of-stranger Henri, and other teenage revolutionaries Cerine, Lise, and Alain, Hannah formulates the ultimate plan to strike down the king and free France from bankruptcy. Can the six Parisians successfully complete their plan? Or will the city of Paris fight back?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic inspired by Les Mis, and the characters are all original. I'm including it in fanfiction, however, because a lot of plot points remain the same.

I returned home from the market fruitless, in more ways than one. I managed to barter for salt, a few fish, and a head of iceberg lettuce with what little money I had, and that food should last my family throughout the rest of the week, if we were lucky.

The market was its usual bustling self, with a little more tension sprinkled in the air like a noblewoman's perfume. Unlike the metaphor, the actual perfume was nowhere to be found in the market. Most Parisian nobles wouldn't have been caught dead in the market with the rest of us, and that was all the better for me. The market was the one place I could go for solace from the bread shop, and I quite liked the merchants there. Monsieur Augustin with the produce was always friendly to me, and his son, Henri, looked to be my age. Henri was sitting at eye level with the vegetables, his head in his arms. I empathized with him, because when your parents sold food, there wasn't much for a fifteen-year-old to do.

When I turned the street corner, I peered around for the familiar boulangerie sign that sprouted from the side of my family's bakery.

It wasn't there. In its place was the metal pole that held it to the wall of the shop, bent out of its shape.

All the air was immediately gone from my lungs. I froze on the cobblestone path, my skirts swishing to a stop around me. I knew what happened when signs were ripped from their hinges. Revolt.

I broke into a run.

Gasping in pain, I jerked away from the doorknob as I tried to open the door. The doorknob was hot to the touch, and smoke was beginning to spill out of the cracks in between the door and the rest of the shop. My thoughts were molasses. Were they burning down my store?

People were beginning to yell around me, and with every syllable they screamed, my eyes widened another fraction. Pretty soon, my mental ropes snapped and I darted around into the alley in between the bakery and the shop next door. I was just in time, too, because I heard a male voice shout, "Mademoiselle Hannah!"

I didn't know if he was on my side or not, and I didn't stay around for long to see.

Smoke spilled out of the doorway as I threw the side door open. I coughed a couple of times, but ducked my head and stumbled inside anyway. My parents and brother could still be inside, and I needed to find them.

I could barely breathe in the bread shop, and talking was of no use. I felt my way around mostly by touch, and I could feel myself growing weaker the longer I stayed in there.

A hoarse squeak caused me to whip my head to the left, and I just barely glimpsed my brother kneeling on the ground, coughing and spitting. I tried to yell his name, but I couldn't get my throat to make a sound. The smoke was closing in, and we needed to get out, and fast.

In fact, I'm not entirely sure how we managed to get out, and through the right door. It was either a stroke of luck or the intervention of some divine power that had never done anything to help my family prior to that moment.

We tumbled out onto the alley, coughing and dry heaving. It took us a couple seconds to collect ourselves, but we didn't have any time to spare. Another voice was crying out at us, and this one definitely sounded angry.

I scrambled up as quickly as I could and dragged my brother with me, screaming his name. "Clair! Clair! Where are Mama and Papa?"

He let out a cry in response as a group of five or six men blocked the alley. They were screaming something about letting the revolution live and slandering the king. Didn't they know a tiny family of bakers in the depths of Paris couldn't do anything about the king?

I grabbed Clair's arm and began to run in the opposite direction. Most of the children in this section of the city knew this little alley secret. Most alleys weren't one-way. Through the piles of empty crates and garbage, there was yet another alley on the other side.

Those empty crates and garbage were exactly what my brother and I broke through.

The alley on the other side was eerily quiet. It seemed as if the riots were a figment of our imaginations, trapped away with the burning bakery.

Clair wasted no time. "We need to hide!" he shouted, and that snapped me out of my daze.

"This way," I replied, breaking into another run. I had been in the weaver's house twice, both times when I was getting measured for childhood balls, back when my family had some standing in society, before the economic downfall. I vaguely remembered a daughter about my age. Whenever I was getting measured, she'd look up at me through pins and grin. I would grin back, and many a boring hour was passed like that.

I raced toward the faded red door of the weaver's, my brother in tow, and threw it open, slamming it behind Clair. He stumbled to the wood floor, and I slid down the door. We both were breathing heavily.

Something between a gasp and a shriek echoed throughout the house, and a girl my age ran into the front hall. "Oh, my," she managed to say. "Do I, do I know you?"

I looked up at her, my hair falling into my face. "Yes, I believe you do," I whispered through my breath. 

She narrowed her eyes. "Wait a moment," she murmured. "I do know you. You're the petite mademoiselle that I played with at your fittings, aren't you?"

I tried to give the girl one of the old grins, but from the look on her face, I knew my grin was broken. Rising back up straight, I smoothed my dress and offered my hand. "Mademoiselle Hannah, baker's daughter. Or, former baker's daughter."

When the girl took my hand, her eyes widened and she threw open a nearby cabinet door and wet a rag for me. "Mademoiselle Carine Dupierre," she replied, handing me the warm cloth. "But please, call me Carine. Weaver's daughter and weaver herself."

"Thank you," I whispered.

Clair was just beginning to sit back up, and I noticed two trails of tears on his face. Carine wet another rag.

My brother buried his head in his hands. "Do you know what they did to them, Hannah?" he asked me. "Do you know?"

"No, I-"

"They're hanging from the tree in center square!" he screamed, and let out a sob.

To my surprise, I didn't cry, just widened my eyes and looked downwards. The mob has not only burned down my home and livelihood, but has lynched my parents. And all for what? Three pounds of bread? They knew full well we were running out. What would have been the use?

My knees felt weak, and I swayed forward.

"Oh," Carine startled, easing me upright again. "How about I make up a bed and you get some rest? We can figure out what to do tomorrow."

Somehow, I managed a nod.


	2. Chapter 2

I had no idea what time it was when I opened my eyes the next morning. All I knew was that there was an unruly strip of sunlight across my right eye that wasn't there when I fell asleep.

Rising from the bed, I pulled the curtains all the way open and turned to see a new set of clothes on my bed. I had made a good on-instinct decision to seek shelter in a weaver's home. They probably had countless sets of clothes for people of any size.

Pulling the dress over my head, I admired its light blue color. There was a white collar-like cloth around the bodice of the dress, and it looked like I had a scarf crossed over my chest, in a way. The sleeves were a lot like my old dress, simple and tight to my skin, but this dress had tiny white fabric trails coming off the sleeves where my old dress just had ruffle. The skirt had subtle stripes of a darker blue, and altogether the dress was beautiful. I needed to remind myself to thank Carine. This could only be her handiwork.

I walked over to where the sunshine was streaming through the window and looked out. The bedroom I had taken was on the second floor of the house, and through the window I could see the gently rolling hills of the sprawling city.

I refrained from looking in the direction of center square.

"Are you sure she's okay?" a voice was saying downstairs.

I turned from the window.

"Yes, she's fine," another voice replied. I recognized it as Carine's. "The brother is worse. He's complaining of a headache, and if it gets worse, I'll have to send for a physician. It's probably the grief. It's a shame he had to go through that at as young of an age as he did."

"It's a shame she had to. Or anyone. That's not what the revolution is about."

I blinked. Revolution?

"I suppose so," Carine said, her voice slowly fading away.

Not bothering to grab my shoes, I eased my way out of the bedroom and descended the stairs.

A boy mine and Carine's age was standing across from Carine at the table. He was holding two rolled-up pieces of parchment that I assumed were maps. The boy had brown hair that was clipped close to his forehead, and he had the type of stature where he seemed harmless, but he had the strength to do something terrible.

The boy noticed my presence and gave me a formal half-bow. "Mademoiselle," he greeted me.

I curtsied in response. "Hannah," I introduced myself.

"Good morning, Hannah," Carine said. "This is Monsieur Michel Fortier, my petit ami."

I gave Michel another curtsy and said a quick bonjour. "What is that in your hand?" I asked as I bounced up from the curtsy.

"Oh, this?" Michel asked, holding up the maps. "I was just planning to show you." He grinned, and with a flourish, unrolled both pieces of parchment onto the table in front of us.

To my surprise, the pieces of parchment together made a map of the city. The map was drawn beautifully, and the attention to detail was splendid. There was a fat circle drawn around Tuileries Palace, where the king and queen currently resided after the March on Versailles not too long ago. I had heard about the March by word of mouth, and among the younger children it was somewhat of an urban legend. Other buildings were either colored white or red. Some even had a black slash drawn through them in ink, and Michel dipped a quill and did just that to my old house. I swallowed as I fully understood what the slash meant.

"We're coding the city," Michel explained. "Who's for the revolution, and who's against it. I'm sure you can tell which is which."

I could. White, the color of the monarchy, slathered the palace and a couple of houses and shops nearby. Red was one of Paris's traditional colors, and I noticed a dot on the weaver's, as well as on the produce stand at the market. Pointing at the produce stand, I looked up at Michel. "I didn't know Monsieur Augustin was a part of the revolution," I said.

Michel followed my finger on the map. "No, he's not," he explained. "That red is because of Henri."

Henri? Why would the vegetable seller's eldest son want to overthrow the monarchy?

"He is my first and greatest friend," Michel said. "He and I want to bring the spirit of liberty to our part of Paris. Every little bit counts, and hopefully someday we can actually get that infernal king off the throne."

The three of us were startled by someone banging the door open yet again. I had a curious sense of déjà vu at the sound of the door hitting the wall to its side.

None other than Monsieur Henri Augustin was standing in the threshold, with labored breathing, sweat on his forehead, and terror in his eyes.

With a sharp intake of breath, Michel gathered up the maps and rose. "Henri!" he exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

Henri didn't say anything back. He began to bend over and seem to shrink in size as he continued to pant. He blinked once, then twice. Finally, standing up, he spoke. "Michel. They've hit the market."

What comes next was a blur of chatter, movement, and audible breathing. When I could finally tune in again, Henri was sitting at the table, a steaming cup of tea in his hand, which something told me he would not end up drinking. Unlike me, he was more talkative, probably because of the stress. When I was overwhelmed, I stayed quiet as a mouse, but when Henri was overwhelmed, he told his life story.

"I can't describe it. They just tore through, they tore through everything. It's like they were thunderstorms. Only destruction was left in their wake. When I returned to the market, all I saw were heads on pikes. There were so many heads, and I didn't know any of them." He averted his eyes and stirred the tea in the cup.

"If you want to stop, then stop," Carine reassured.

"No, no, I'm fine. Just thinking, I guess. I can't describe it," he repeated. "There was so much destruction, and so much fire." He turned and looked me straight in the eye. "How do they get all the fire?"

I forced myself to break the stare.

"Should I send for the physician?" Carine asked Michel. He shook his head in response.

All the talk about the physician reminded me of one of the reasons I came downstairs in the first place. "What about my brother?" I asked Carine and Michel. "What does he need?"

"Probably something to calm his head," Carine replied. "And the same for Henri, just in a different way."

I smiled.

"You can get that at the apothecary," Michel said. "It's just down the street. You should know where it is, and if not, it's pretty easy to find. Take him with you," he finished, nodding toward Henri. "He needs someone to calm him down."

I exhaled. And why was that someone me?

Either way, I wasn't going to let Henri's nerves ruin my apothecary trip. The trip was for my brother, and Clair deserved all the help he could get.


	3. Chapter 3

As we walked down the cobblestone, I noticed Henri begin to relax. He didn’t say anything else, so I figured I may as well break the silence myself.

I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about your loss. I don’t know how I’d be if my brother hadn’t have made it out. I can’t imagine losing your entire family.”

“It’s not just that,” Henri replied, his shoulders falling. “I should have been there, and it’s scary to know that if I would have been there, I’d be dead. No question about it.”

I tilted my head to the side, curious. “Where were you instead? If you don’t mind me asking.”

He smiled for the first time since I’d seen him. “Its not a problem, trust me. I actually was with Monsieur Travert.”

“The pipe-organ player?”

“And harpsichord, and fife, and oboe, and lute, and violoncello. I’ve been curious my whole life about music, but I knew my family would never let me.”

I looked over at him. “Why not?”

“The Monsieur plays the pipe-organ. For a Catholic parish. If they knew - if they’d have known - that I was taking lessons, they would have disowned me.”

My eyes shifted back to the cobblestone. “I see.”

Henri let out a breath. "I know it is, or it was, it was a senseless act of defiance, but-"

"When you learn enough, presuming you still want to take lessons, please teach me."

We had reached the apothecary door by then, and Henri leaned over and pulled it open for the both of us, his gaze never leaving mine. He must never have been supported in something he loved before, and the thought of it shot a pang through my chest. My family had always been supportive of me, and I had no idea how he must have felt, sneaking off to take lessons with a Catholic.

Henri pulled the door open all the way, and I entered the apothecary first. The floors were a sturdy dark wood, and the planks made satisfying thumps as we walked over to the counter. Hundreds of vials lined the wall to the back of the counter, and they contained liquids of varying muted colors. If I were my grandfather, I’d have accused the apothecary of witchcraft. The front part of the store had larger bags and crates lining the walls, and a large wooden bench was placed in one of the corners.

Standing behind the counter was another girl our age. Her wavy blonde hair was piled up in a simple updo, and little wisps were escaping on the sides. She was wearing a pink and orange striped dress and an apron. “Bonjour,” she greeted us with a friendly smile. “I’m Mademoiselle Lise Pelletier, and my mother owns this establishment. How can I help you two?”

I stepped up to the counter and spoke. “I need something to calm a headache. My brother is suffering from a large one. Also, anything to dull the senses and relax.”

Lise turned around, murmuring my words as she ran her finger over a line of vials. “Would it trouble you if I asked why? This is a peculiar request.”

I heard a rush of air beside me as Henri exhaled. I figured he wouldn’t want to explain, so I took the initiative instead. Resting my elbows on the counter, I tucked a piece of hair that had escaped my half-updo behind my ear. “The riots, they got my family. My parents, actually. I’m the baker’s daughter.” I looked up, assuming that Lise would know what I was talking about. “There was a fire.”

Turning back around, Lise nodded. “Yes, I was told about that. My condolences, sincerely. I don’t know what it would be like to lose your parents like that.”

“It’s terrible,” Henri chimed in. “Trust me, you don’t want any of this. I’m the produce seller, I guess. I’m the only one left.”

Lise pursed her lips and set two vials onto the counter. “I don’t recommend taking these two at the same time,” she said. “If you do need both, wait at least half an hour before the other dose.” Sliding the vials over to us, she almost opened her mouth again to tell us the price, but instead she blinked and took a step back. “Wait,” she said quietly, looking closer at Henri. “Aren’t you the one who is all for the revolts?”

Henri narrowed his eyes. “I’m for the revolution. I’m not for the food riots and systematic hate crime it brings. There’s a way to overthrow a king, and that’s not the way to do it.”

Lise waved her hands. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend, really! It’s just, I know someone else who believes very strongly in what you advocate for.”

“Who is it?” I asked.

Taking a look at the clock on the wall, Lise smiled. “It’s Monsieur Alain de Sauvierre, the physician near here. I call him Alain. If you two would like to stay for a couple of minutes, he should be here shortly. He usually stops in around now for liquor and bandages.”

I glanced at Henri. “Is that all right with you?” I whispered.

“I don’t see a problem with it,” he whispered back. “Carine and Michel already suspect that we’ll take longer than normal anyway.”

“What? What do you mean?”

Henri’s eyes widened and he stammered something in reply. “I, um, well, I can explain later, I guess,” he tried to say.

Meanwhile, behind the counter, Lise was grinning.

The few minutes waiting for Monsieur Alain were torture. I awkwardly looked in one direction, and Henri awkwardly looked the same way, and then we were awkwardly looking at each other. Lise turned around and arranged more vials, and I leaned on the counter, biting my lip and feeling uncomfortable.

“Mademoiselle Lise!” a voice rang out as the door opened. A boy walked in, wearing similar clothes as Henri and Michel: tall boots, dark colored pants, and a light-colored cloth shirt, but Alain sported a blood-stained half apron tied crooked around his waist. His grin was equally as crooked, and he was flashing it straight at Lise.

As he walked up to the counter, he kissed Lise quickly on the cheek. Pulling back, he straightened the apron and grinned again. “Don’t worry, I haven’t been killing anyone,” he said with a laugh. “Afternoons are surgeries.”

Lise’s eyes widened and she shook her head furtively, nodding in Henri’s and my direction. Alain looked from her to us, a confused expression on his face, and after a short conversation between the two of them through glances and eyebrow raises, Alain mouthed the word “oh!” and looked at Henri and I again, his teeth gritted.

Henri smiled. “It’s fine, Alain, really. But, uh,” he said, letting his word trail off as he walked over to the physician, “I’m the one you probably want to see about this revolution business. I’m Henri Augustin, one of the people actually behind it in this part of Paris. If you’d like, Hannah and I can take you and Lise if she wants back to Carine’s house. She’s my best friend’s partner, and we’ve set up in her home for now.”

“My brother and I are staying with her,” I explained.

Alain looked over at Lise. “Will your mother get angry if you close a little early?” he asked. “I can take time off. If people need me, they can find me.”

Lise shook her head. “My brothers should be home in about twenty minutes. I won’t close up for long.”

Henri smiled. “Great,” he said. “I’ll take you back, then.”


	4. Chapter 4

The sun was high in the sky when we walked back out onto the street. The late summer air was hot, but not enough to warrant a sweat. It was a nice day, and the other people milling around the town seemed to think that as well.

We didn’t talk much on the way back to the weaver’s. I assumed that Henri had wanted to tell me whatever was up with him earlier, but since Lise and Alain were here as well, he never got the chance. I figured he’d have time later. If what he wanted me to know was really that important, he’d have found a way to tell me as soon as possible.

Even so, he walked next to me as we returned to Carine’s house, and once again, he opened the door for us when we reached it.

Inside, Michel was writing something on another large piece of parchment, and Carine was preparing the midday meal. I let my eyes close a little as I inhaled the smell of the entrée, and I was sure if the first course smelled that good, the rest of the meal had to be something to talk about.

Clair was also sitting at the table, and he was watching Michel work. He seemed to be recovering well, and despite being weighed down by bags, his eyes were bright.

Carine looked up from the food and smiled. “I see you’ve brought more guests,” she joked.

I smiled in response. “This is Mademoiselle Lise, the apothecary, and this is Monsieur Alain, the physician.” Lise and Alain took respective bows and curtsies.

“They want to join us,” Henri explained to Michel.

Michel set his quill back in the inkwell. “Wait, and you said he was a physician?”

Alain nodded.

“That’s perfect! Yes, please join us! I’ve actually been planning something,” he said, looking at Henri. “I haven’t told anyone yet.”

I took a seat at the table, and Henri, Alain, and Lise followed in a type of wave pattern. Carine set the food aside and joined us, too.

Michel looked around at the five of us (or six, counting my brother). “I think it’s time for our little revolution to stage an attack. We’ve got the public talking, and the bread riots aren’t getting any better. If anything, they’re growing, and more innocent people will be caught in the wake of the radicals if we don’t act soon. I know the radicals that attacked you want the king gone as well. All we need to do is show them that we’re on the same side. I’m afraid if we wait any longer, someone with put this thing to rest, either the rioters or the loyalists. It’s time to do something.”

The table was silent for a couple of seconds. Finally, Henri swallowed and inhaled a shaky breath. “What do you suppose we do?”

Michel flipped the parchment he’d been writing on around so the rest of us could see. “We need to infiltrate places of authority. They’ve already stormed the Bastille and Versailles, but there’s one thing no one has hit yet.”

“And where is that?” Lise asked.

Michel pulled out the map and pointed at the thickest dash of white there. “Tuileries.”

Silence fell over the table. It wasn’t the average silence, either. This was a thinking, a planning silence. We were communicating, but it was in the air we breathed, not the sound from our lips. Our chests rose and fell in unison as we all realized that the fate of the infant revolution in fact rested on the shoulders of six fifteen-year-old commoners. We were far from special, just a baker, a produce seller, a weaver, an apprentice shipbuilder, an apothecary, and a physician. We were common people, really. And common people were exactly what the revolution required to survive.

“So,” Alain began to say, breaking the silence. “When will this happen?”

“As soon as we can prepare,” Michel replied. “We need to gather supplies, find a cover, and develop our attack. I don’t want a massacre. I want us to be tactical and truly analyze what we’re doing. This will be clandestine. Tell no one until I give the word.”

The five of us nodded. The table had an air of seriousness to it, and the seriousness felt very adult and professional. The five Parisian teens weren’t teens. We were mature adults, and we were going to make a difference in a city that desperately needed it.

“What have you been writing on that?” Henri asked Michel, leaning over the table and breaking the silence. “I can’t read your handwriting from here.”

“It’s a rough outline, really,” Michel said back, pushing the paper over to Henri. I was right next to Henri at the table, so I saw what Michel had been planning as well. I leaned over Henri’s shoulder and began to read.

A bulleted list was on the paper, and on it Michel had tried to plan what supplies we’d need. He’d also given everyone a job, and I was surprised to see that he’d given Henri and I the same one - scouting in advance. Lise, Alain, and Carine were to gather supplies, or originally Carine was, but he’d added in Lise’s and Alain’s names when they’d arrived. Supplies were huge, and we needed as many as we could get. According to Michel’s list, we needed “all the guns and gunpowder we can find, picks, knives, any other weapons, bandages, new clothes for disguises, hats, better shoes, and any medicine or liquor in the event we get injured.”

Henri was evidently at the same part of the paper as I was, and he smiled. “It’s a good thing I recruited a physician, then,” he said to Michel. “And an apothecary, too.”

Lise and Alain grinned, and I saw Alain’s arm pinch Lise’s waist.

Nodding, Michel broke into a grin. “Yes, actually, it is. They’re our missing piece. Now, we can attack as soon as possible.” Shifting his face into a more solemn expression, he looked each of us in the eye. “I trust that you all will remain secretive about this. All we need is one person finding out and going to the guards, and this whole thing is off. Plus, we’ll probably end up dead.”

The weight of responsibility settled back onto our shoulders, and we nodded.

“Great,” Michel said, rising from the table. “I’m giving us the rest of this week to gather supplies and make anything we may need. Henri and Hannah, I need you to go ahead of us to Tuileries and draw anything you see. Mail it back to us, and I’ll create a better map.”

“When are we going?” I asked.

Michel looked at his parchment again and tapped his chin. “Tomorrow, at the absolute latest. That way, you can get the drawings to me the rest of this week. Since it’s inner city mail, it should only take a half day to get to the rest of us. Gather your own guns when you’re there.”

“I can make you guys disguises,” Carine chimed in. “And I know a carriagemaster who can take you up to the palace. Michel’s family has a small house up there, and that’s where you’ll stay.”

I met Henri’s eyes again, but he was looking down.

“For now, though, get some rest,” Michel finished. “I won’t ask you two to do anything else today. As for the rest of you, though…”

Lise smiled. “Don’t worry. I have a stash of medications no one will miss back at the shop. Plus, my father owns a gun. He barely touches it.”

Alain nodded. “You’re lucky I just bought bandages,” he said with a grin.

“Perfect,” Michel replied. “Vive la révolution.”

“Vive la révolution,” we all echoed, getting more and more enthusiastic with every change of letter.


	5. Chapter 5

Later on, Alain and Lise had already left, and Michel had an apprenticeship, so it was just Carine, Henri, and I in the house. Clair had been quiet since the talk of revolution, and I could tell he wanted to stay. Carine said her father would gladly take him as an apprentice weaver, or Michel's father could take him as another shipbuilder. He chose the manlier of the two tasks, and was currently at the river marina with Michel.

Carine had put us to work. Henri was cutting fabric into long strips, and I was finishing the edges of shirts and hemming skirts and pants. I wasn't too bad with a needle, and I only poked myself twice, both when my thoughts strayed from the task at hand.

"Are you sure you can handle the scouting?" Carine asked us, breaking the silence. "I know Michel thinks you can, and you seem strong, but you've lost the most out of all of us. You can't let your emotions rule your head."

Henri set a stack of strips onto a pile. "I'll be fine, Carine," he replied, with a surprising amount of force.

He would not be fine. Not with that mentality. I took a shaky breath and set the needle down. "Michel's given us a lot of work. If we stay focused on that, we can get you better maps and live in the long run."

Carine let a smile spread across her face and Henri looked over at me. "That sounds like a great plan," she said. "But really, go, you two. I don't need your help, and you better see as much of home as you can before you're thrown into a carriage for the morning."

I laughed and Henri grinned. "Okay," I replied. "I'm not going to refuse getting off work."

"Me, too," Henri said, and stood up, piling up the rest of the strips and setting them aside. "Where'd you like to go, Hannah?"

Standing up myself, I gave him a shrug. "I don't know, really. Surprise me."

Henri grinned. "Then you know where we're going, Carine," he said to her. "The place Michel and I always used to visit as kids."

Carine smiled and nodded in reply. "Have fun, don't get hurt, and come back by dinner."

I smiled and almost told her she was acting like my mother, but I caught myself just in time with a drop of my heart. Neither Henri nor I had mothers anymore. Carine was, in all seriousness, the closest either of us could get.

Grabbing my wrist, Henri jerked me out of my stupor and left the house.

The sun was still shining, and fluffy white clouds dotted the sky. I looked up past the buildings and breathed in a lungful of fresh air.

"Come on," Henri said, grabbing my wrist again. "It'll take us a little while to get there."

"Where are we going?"

"The Garden of the King," Henri replied. "Michel and I played the best hide and seek there when we were little. I always won."

I grinned. "Did you, now?"

"Don't give me that look."

We fell silent for a while, and as we walked through the city, I finally felt at peace. The fire had messed me up in more than one way, but now, I felt normal. Happy, even. I almost opened my mouth to say that exact thing to Henri, but I caught myself before I said anything. It would have just sounded weird. I didn't want to ruin anything. Plus, what if he still wasn't okay about it?

I heard a small rush of air as Henri breathed in next to me. "You know what," he began. "I actually feel all right. I'm not jittery anymore, and I don't feel like I'm drowning."

My eyes widened and I almost stopped walking. "I was thinking the exact same thing. I don't know if it's just being outside, or the plan, or whatever it is, but I feel a lot better and I don't know why."

Henri grinned and we were quiet for another chunk of time. I glanced the approaching park, surprised at how big it was. I'd been there when I was a kid, but my family stopped going when bread prices rose. We weren't upper class anymore, and my father felt that only the upper class should enjoy the beauty of the park.

Henri must not have shared the thought, because he pulled open the wrought-iron gate and we stepped into the park. The paths were clear, and for a minute I thought we were the only people in the park. Once I looked around a little more, I spotted a couple more pedestrians, all dressed in ten times more finery than Henri and I.

I grinned. "It feels like anarchy, walking in a fancy park and not being nobility."

"It's getting us into that revolutionary spirit," Henri replied.

We began to walk along the lines of impeccably trimmed hedges, and a thought popped into my head. "Speaking of the revolutionary spirit, do you know anything about that house we're expected to stay in? Someone better be taking care of it."

Henri laced his fingers together and shrugged. "Michel really hasn't told me much about it, to be honest. I expect it'll be livable, though. I wouldn't worry."

"Michel seems to not tell you a lot. I don't know if it's just me, but he seems to...I don't know, act kind of strangely when it comes to you and me." I ended the sentence in a question, and looked over at Henri, gritting my teeth in the process.

He let out a breath, and it sounded kind of like a laugh. "Well, um," he began. "There's a reason. Remember that time at the market when we were little? I think I was about ten?"

I did, actually.

 

Ten-year-old me rests her hands on the cool wood of the market booth. Papa is trying a new way of selling pastries. He sets up a stand. Before the sun comes up.

I let my head slip onto my arms. "Papa," I begin. "It's too early. Why couldn't you take Clair instead?"

My father gently claps me on the back. "Because you're my special girl," he counters. "And - don't tell your brother - but you're a better seller than he is."

Lifting my head, I grin. "Really?"

Papa isn't looking at me anymore. Instead, he's arranging some of the baked goods in an artsy design. "Well, you can still go to sleep," he says to me. "I won't trouble you."

I stand up fully. "No!" I refuse. "I'm the best seller, and I want to do my job."

"That's my girl."

A couple of hours pass, and the sun is above my head before I know it. Some more vendors have begun to set up shop as well, and I can't wait to sell my first pastry.

But then the vegetable man comes over and almost ruins my entire plan. He's carrying a box of greens over to his table, and he's followed by three kids. One of them looks my age, and he's struggling with a box overflowing with bright orange carrots. Two littler kids are following him, and they're working together to carry a crate full of beets.

I rest my arms on the table again and hold my chin in my hands. There's a dip in the cobblestone coming up ahead, and I want to know if the boy will notice it or not.

A few seconds later, he lets out a cry and tumbles to the ground, losing the box of carrots in the process.

I hide a smile with my hand. He didn't notice the dip, and fell victim to it.

"Hannah," my father scolds. "Stop laughing and help him."

Sighing, I walk around the stand and kneel down next to the boy, picking up a couple of carrots.

The crate of beets clatters to the ground as well as the littler of the two other kids gasps and runs over. "Henri!" she yells. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," the boy says to her. "But look what you did."

The other kid puts his arms on his hips and glares at the little girl. "Yeah, look what you did," he says, his L softened with a lisp. "You made me drop the beets."

The girl looks at her brothers and narrows her eyes. I've seen enough little kids to know what's going to happen next, and being the mature ten-year-old I am, I will not have someone cry on my watch. "Really, it's fine," I say to her. "Just help us pick this up and you'll be just fine."

The boy - no, Henri - shoots me a look of gratitude.

As I pick up more carrots, now it's my turn to not notice something. Henri doesn't take his eyes off me the entire time.

 

"Wait," I said, letting my word trail off.

Five-years-older Henri stopped in front of me. "I told Michel about you as soon as I could, and it's been going ever since."

My eyes flicked upward and met his. I had so much to say, but I didn't know how, and I was sure my eyes communicated it perfectly. He didn't speak anything, either, but I knew exactly what he was saying.

My eyes left his and instead slid halfway shut as I leaned in. He did the same.

I'm close enough to hear his intake of breath when someone slammed into my back, causing me to crash into Henri - and not in the way we wanted to.

He stumbled back as I stumbled forward. We both let out squeals of surprise. Turning around, I looked right into the eye of an incredibly short nobleman. His powdered wig made his hair taller than Michel, but his face was level with mine, and it had a livid expression on it.

The nobleman lunged forward and snapped his fingers in my face. "What do you think you're doing, you little peasant whore?" he snapped.

The only thing I could do was laugh, and that was not the right choice.

"This park is for people like me!" the man yelled at us. "Get back to the whorehouse from whence you came!"

Henri masked a laugh with a cough, and I nodded. "Of-of course, sir," I said, trying to keep my voice level despite my laughter. "We'll be off, I promise."

"You better be," the man spat. Angrily, he turned on his heel and stormed off in the other direction.

The second he was out of earshot, I almost collapsed with laughter. Henri did the same, and he rested a hand on my shoulder as we laughed so hard neither of us could breathe.


	6. Chapter 6

We stumbled into Carine's house, still laughing. Carine herself was nowhere in sight, but Lise, Alain, and Michel were all sitting at the table again, and they gave us peculiar looks.

Or, Lise and Alain did. Michel raised his eyebrows in Henri's general direction.

Clearing my throat, I brushed the nonexistent dust from my dress and took a step away. I pulled the pin from my falling-out half updo and ran my fingers through my hair, smoothing it out. I pushed a short part of my hair back. Most of the time those pieces stayed to the side, but they fell into my eyes pretty easily when I ran or turned.

"I take it you had a good time," Michel pushed.

I flicked my gaze to the side, and I noticed Henri shoot him a glare. Alain let out a snort, and Lise smacked his arm.

"Where's Carine?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Sleeping," Michel said. "Which you should be doing." He gestured toward Henri and I, but brought his hand back when he realized what he could have meant. "Not TOGETHER, but you know what I mean, right?"

Now, it was Henri's turn to snort, and my turn to smack him. "Where's Clair?" I asked. "He needs to be given wax to plug his ears or something. I can't have you contaminating him."

"He's already in bed," Michel said. "Again, where -" He stopped before he said anything else. "Just go to sleep."

Alain had his head buried in his hands at the table, and his shoulders hadn't stopped shaking this entire time.

"Fine," Henri said. "I'll leave before this gets any worse."

Just before he turned to go, I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Good night, then," I said, and walked into the kitchen.

Henri blinked twice before his hand found the doorknob, and Michel opened his mouth in a silent "hey!"

I grinned and exhaled in silent laughter as I watched the exchange.

Once Henri left, Michel rose from the table and began to make his way upstairs. We would have succeeded, too, but Alain stopped him with a quick "hey! What do you think you're doing?"

"Going to sleep," Michel said back matter-of-factly.

Lise's smile faded. "Wait. Wait."

I poked around from the kitchen. "Here?"

"Yeah. What's so wrong about that?"

Alain, Lise, and I locked eyes.

"Wow, you guys must not know how relationships work," Michel countered, and he made his way upstairs while the rest of us stared at each other, mouths agape.

I could only say one thing. "Well, he's a hypocrite."

I was forced awake the next morning by Carine slamming her hand onto the door. I had no clue how she could make just her palm sound as loud as she did. "Levez-vous!" she yelled. "You don't have all day!"

"I want to!" I yelled back, as loud as I could with a voice still thick with sleep.

"Well, you can't!"

"Shut up!" Henri's voice echoed from downstairs.

That woke me up. Quickly, I jumped out of bed and changed into another dress Carine had made for me. This one was a dark maroon, and it had a pretty simple top part. The sleeves were more like the dress I'd worn before the fire, and the skirt was striped like my dress from yesterday, but the stripes were vertical, and more muted. Beside the dress had rested a light tan jacket. It looked a lot like the ones Clair or Henri would wear, but Carine had made a few alterations to make it fit my frame and function with my dress. It was a lot shorter than a man's jacket, and the sleeves were rolled up to my elbows and secured with a fabric clasp. The end result was a jacket that stopped right where the skirt began to flare at my waist. Slipping it on, I marveled at the soft fabric.

Pulling my hair into a high updo much like Lise's was the day before, I shook my head a bit to let the shorter pieces of hair fall out.

With that, I opened the door and ran downstairs.

Lise, Alain, Michel, Carine, and Henri were already at Carine's house, and Lise was holding a bridle and reins. She must have noticed my confused expression, because she smiled and explained the situation. Apparently, the carriagemaster's horse had fallen ill overnight, and Lise was graciously offering her own to take us to the house. Judging from the clock in the hallway, it was just about time for Henri and I to go.

Michel walked up to the both of us and handed us two pistols. "I trust the carriagemaster," he said, "but no one else. You should do the same."

Gingerly, I took a pistol, thanking Carine for adding inside pockets to the jacket. Henri took the other and turned it over in his hands. "Are you sure we'll need these?" he asked.

Michel gave him a grave look. "I'm not sure you won't."

About a half an hour later, the bumps and dips in the carriage were beginning to lull me to sleep. There were two cushioned seats facing each other inside the carriage, and I was laying on my back on the one closest to the back wheels. I had a piece of hair that had escaped my updo in my hands, and I was occupying myself with it, twisting it into a curl and watching it fall back straight.

Henri looked out the window. "I thought we'd see more variety on this trip, but it still looks like home."

"It's still Paris," I reply, "but I was expecting the same thing. This is a lot more boring than what Michel said."

"I second that."

Pulling out the updo, I let some of my hair fly out the window, brushed away from my face due to the wind. I kept the piece from before in my hand. "Didn't Michel say he knew the carriagemaster?"

"I think so," Henri replied. "His name is Raoul. It didn't sound familiar to me when Michel told me about it, but maybe he met Raoul at the shipyard or something."

"He must have. Either way, this Raoul seems all right."

Henri flitted his gaze to the carriage wall to his back. Raoul is sitting on the exterior, holding the reins to Lise's horse, Claude. "I guess so, but if I've learned one thing from planning this attack with Michel, it's that you can't trust anyone."

I grinned. "Even me?"

Henri smiled and looked at the floor. "Even you. Especially with what you did last night."

"Oh, come on, that was nothing," I countered. "Michel was happy."

"Tais-toi."

I laughed in reply, but I got quiet again very fast. "He, uh, he really likes, um, this. I've noticed that."

Henri laughed uneasily. "Yeah, yeah, he does."

"Well, from what he said last night with Carine, he's pretty serious about stuff like this."

Lowering his eyebrows, Henri gave me a confused look, causing me to realize he wasn't there when the thing took place last night. Michel had probably waited for a reason, but judging from what he'd done when Henri and I were together, I figured he needed some karma.

Paying painstaking attention to detail, I recounted everything that happened after Henri left, emphasizing the parts where Michel was just about to go upstairs. When I finished, Henri could only take a breath and cough at the same time.

I grinned. "Exactly."

I could tell the carriage was about to go silent again, but the uneven Parisian roads beat us to it. The carriage jolted upward and lurched to one side, throwing the unprepared me off balance and onto the floor in between the two benches. Laughing, I covered my face with my hands.

Henri said something to me, but I was too engrossed in the fact that he sounded a lot closer to me to tell what it was.

"What?" I replied, moving my hands.

"You looked lonely," he repeated, and I flitted my eyes over to realize he was lying next to me on the floor.

I let a small smile spread across my face. "I was," I said.

At that moment, the carriage jolted again and since I'd let my guard down, the rhythm of the carriage threw me to my right.

Henri was also to my right. "Whoa there, hi!" he exclaimed, setting his hands on my shoulders. I was holding myself up with the palms of my hands, and he was lying right below me.

Awkwardly, I tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear and smiled. "Hi is right," I replied. After a few more seconds of staring, I finally looked away and tried to roll over to the other side and let Henri breathe.

"Tried to" were the operative words. Before I could move any more, Henri grabbed my shoulders more forcefully and brought me down into a kiss. We probably would have kissed again, and longer, but the carriage got the best of us for a third time. We both rolled into Henri's bench and I slid a little bit lower and rested my head on his chest. Both of us were laughing.

"I don't think Raoul likes what's happening back here," Henri mused through a laugh, and I nodded.

The carriage lunged to the side one final time and slid to an ominous stop. I looked at Henri, confused, and he narrowed his eyes in reply. He opened his mouth to say something, but Raoul beat him to it. "No, I don't like what's happening back here!" he shouted, throwing open the carriage door.

I rolled my eyes and moved to my left, getting off of Henri. "I'm sure it wasn't that-"

Raoul stopped my words when he pointed a pistol right between my eyes. I inhaled a quick and shaky breath, and noticing my distress, Henri bolted upright. When he saw the pistol, his eyes widened even more than mine already were, and he reached out both hands in a kind of surrender and stop sign, sliding back so he was sitting against the side wall of the carriage.

"Don't move an inch," Raoul snarled at us.

"You-you don't have to use that," Henri said, pointing toward the pistol. "We promise we'll cooperate."

The last syllable of Henri's sentence was clipped short when Raoul snapped the pistol shut and hurled it at Henri's forehead. The pistol wasn't an ordinary gun. When it closed like Raoul had just done, it turned into a very effective set of brass knuckles.

Slowly, Henri brought his hand up to his forehead, and he gasped when his fingers came away red.

I scrambled for the gun, trying in vain to unsnap it.

Raoul just laughed. "It's no use trying, Mademoiselle. I'm not daft enough to throw a loaded gun at you. That was just for show."

One glance in Henri's direction told me he wasn't fit for a firefight, so I let the brass knuckles skitter to the ground and pulled out my pistol at the same time as Raoul pulled out his. He and I stared at each other for a couple of seconds as Raoul registered what I'd just done. I thanked every deity I knew that Michel was just paranoid enough to arm us.

"Now, what a nice little predicament this is, Mademoiselle," Raoul said.

"And you, Monsieur," I returned.

Raoul gave me a nasty smile and slowly moved the aim of the pistol over, pointing it straight at Henri. He raised an eyebrow and was about to throw his head back in laughter.

Instead, he threw his head back in pain as my angry shot hit its mark. It seemed like he tumbled backward out of the carriage in slow motion as I fell back, my adrenaline rush dying with every breath I took.

I couldn't let it die for long. Henri and I still had half the city to traverse, and we couldn't dare take the carriage anymore. Raoul probably had people stationed all around the route, and if they saw the carriage, they'd make sure he'd taken care of us. I could handle one sympathizer with the monarchy, but not six or seven.

"I'm going to pass out."

I turned toward Henri and rolled my eyes. "No, you're not," I said. "You didn't just kill a man. Come on, let's get you fixed up."

Pulling bandages from a bag Lise had given us, I took a longer one and secured it across his forehead. Blood began to stain it, but I could tell the flow was subsiding. He'd be fine. "I didn't think we'd have to use these yet," I remarked to myself.

"Hannah?" Henri asked me. "Did you really shoot Raoul because you thought he was going to shoot me?"

I occupied myself a little too much with the bag of bandages.

I felt his hand on my chin, gently pulling my face back to face him. "Did you?"

"I think I did," I admitted, my voice slipping down to a whisper. "It seemed like everything went so fast, and then so slow. The only thing that flashed through my mind was 'no.'"

Henri stared at me, and I stared right back. We probably would have kissed again, but the townspeople chose now to notice that I'd just killed a man.

"Oh my!" a woman shrieked, running over to the open door of the carriage. "Are you two all right?"

Henri snapped out of it first, and he stood up and helped me out of the carriage, clearing his throat. "Yes, Madame, we're fine."

"But your head! You should have a physician look at that. Come here, my husband knows a phenomenal one."

Henri gave the woman a pained smile and shook his head. "No, no, really, I'll be fine. But we could use someone to take a message for us."

The woman left for a while and returned with parchment and a pencil. She had enough common sense to know we couldn't write with ink here. Carine, Michel, and others, I began. Raoul wasn't trustworthy after all. About halfway through the journey, he pulled a gun on us. Not to worry, we're both fine. We plan to continue on the way to the house. You should receive something when we arrive. Best wishes, H & H.

Rolling up the paper, I handed it to the woman with a grateful smile. "Please get that across the city as fast as you can," I said, scribbling Carine's address on the outside. "Merci, merci beaucoup."

"De rien," the woman said, and made as if to leave. "You still will be fine, right? No need to call a physician?"

"We'll be perfect," Henri said, shaking the woman's free hand. "Thank you so much."

The woman gave us a smile and curt nod, and quickly, she and the rest of the growing group left us.

When they were gone, Henri turned to me. "What do we do?"

I flicked the brass knuckles open to reveal a sharp blade instead of a long chamber for the gun. "We," I began, already slicing through the ropes that held the carriage harness to the horse, "are going to learn how to ride."


	7. Chapter 7

Much to my surprise, riding a horse wasn’t too difficult once we got acquainted with the horse in question. Claude was surprisingly gentle, and she moved beautifully. At this rate, we’d be at the house a couple of hours ahead of schedule.

I was lucky Michel had taken the time to walk Henri through the carriage route when I was asleep. He had a rough idea of which roads to take, and so he sat in front, guiding the horse down the streets. I was forced to sit sidesaddle behind him, and I was holding onto his waist for dear life. The horse was going very fast, and the smooth fabric of the dress, while extremely comfortable, wasn’t helping me stay on the horse at all.

“It’s good that we chose to be tricked and almost killed on a nice day,” Henri said back to me. “At least Raoul had that much decency.”

“Only you could joke around on the back of a horse,” I retorted.

“I’m trying to make light of the situation,” he replied. “I have blood pouring out of my head that I’d rather not think about.”

I moved my arms up to his shoulders and tried to balance myself on the horse a little bit better. Once I didn’t feel in immediate danger of death, I relaxed a little more and leaned closer, resting my head on his shoulder. I stayed there for the rest of the ride, and I only moved when we crossed the Seine.

And that was just to hold him closer.

 

The sun was just beginning to dip lower in the sky when we arrived at Michel’s family’s house. It was a pretty small building itself, and it was squished in between two other houses about the same size. The only reason I could tell that we had the right house was the Rue de Rivoli plaque just to the right of the dark navy door.

Henri slid off the horse first, and he grabbed my waist and helped me swing down as well. “Let’s see what Michel has for us,” he said.

I pumped a little water from a neighborhood pump and filled a trough for the horse. After I’d made sure Claude was going to be fine after her long journey, I followed Henri inside.

The house wasn’t anything special. To be honest, it looked a lot like my old one, and the thought caused something to drop in my chest. Henri must have read my expression, because his hand found mine and we locked eyes. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

I grinned instead and leaned my head on his shoulder. “Let’s explore this house, and I’ll probably forget all about it.”

He grinned as well and we began to walk through the house. It had two floors, and the ground floor was a living room, a kitchen, and a separate dining room. A large hearth was built into the wall of the living room, and even though it was warm outside, I wanted to light it. It seemed so cozy.

We climbed the stairs next. The upper floor only had two rooms - another tiny living room that I assumed was used as an office or drawing room, and a bedroom. When Henri opened the bedroom door, he turned back into the hallway, leaned along the wall, and buried his face in his hands. “Michel,” he said, drawing out his friend’s name. “You need to stop.” 

“It can’t be that bad,” I said, walking over. I cracked the door open again and looked for myself. A large window took up most of one wall, and the burgundy curtains were drawn over it. A small desk, dresser, and wardrobe took up one half of the space, but they weren’t what Henri was reacting to, at least that’s not what I thought he was reacting to.

If I were him, I’d be stressing over the one four-poster bed facing the window. “Oh,” I said, keeping the word short. “I see.”

Henri was finally recovering, and he smiled at me. “You better either like me now or learn to like me really fast.”

I turned to him and flashed a smile. “Of course I like you,” I said. “If I didn’t, you probably wouldn’t be alive.”

He smiled back, but I didn’t see it. I had already stepped forward and was messing with the bandage on his forehead. Peeling it off, I checked for fresh blood. “Félicitations,” I said. “There’s no blood. If you don’t bump your head any more, you’re healed.”

“That’s great,” he said. “I won’t try to.”

“Good,” I replied, “because you’re writing the letter to Michel this time.”

 

It was long after night fell when Henri and I finally went to bed. We were both a little uncomfortable about the whole thing, and something told me we were subconsciously trying to avoid it. Normally, couples didn’t sleep in the same bed until their wedding night, but apparently, Michel didn’t share that value. Anyway, neither Henri nor I had any parents to disappoint anymore, so in the end we both figured, why not?

Carine had blessed me with breeches. I hated wearing dresses to sleep, and she must have agreed. She’d packed me enough to last a couple of days, plus a couple of shirts like Henri’s. We were going to look the same, and I didn’t care.

I was braiding my hair down my back when Henri came up behind me and pinched both sides of my waist, causing me to jump and almost drop the braid. I quickly tied it off and turned around to face him. “That wasn’t very nice,” I retorted, a grin still present on my face.

“I know it wasn’t,” he replied. “That was my goal.”

Hooking my arms around his waist, I smiled up at him. I was going to say something in reply, but I yawned before I could. Looking away, I closed my eyes.

“Exactly,” he said, spinning around and unclasping my hands from his waist. With a gentle shove, I tumbled onto the bed, and he followed.

Moving over to the farther side, I pulled the blankets down and situated myself on the bed. As my head rested on the pillow, I closed my eyes.

I could feel Henri lean over me, and softly, he kissed me. “Goodnight,” he whispered.

Smiling, I opened my eyes again. “Goodnight,” I replied.


	8. Chapter 8

What began as a six-inch divide turned into a zero-inch divide by morning. I woke up on my stomach with my head resting against Henri’s, and from the looks of it, the movement was mutual. I could feel the warmth of the sun through the curtain, but I didn’t want to get up. Instead, I took another breath and listened to the steady legato rhythm of Henri’s.

After a couple more minutes, the legato changed to a marcato as Henri woke up. He moved away from me as he realized what had happened overnight, but when he saw my grin, he moved back. “Good morning,” he whispered to me, a strange repeat of the night before.

I continued the parallel and kissed him this time. “I don’t want to get up,” I said, “but our mapping starts today, and if we want to live through this attack, we should probably get started.”

“Very true.”

We slid out of opposite sides of the bed, and I pulled a light bluish lavender dress on right over the breeches. Facing the wall, I quickly slid the shirt off. I was still a little self-conscious, even though I knew well enough to lightly bind my chest. I redid the braid, and when I turned around, Henri was already waiting by the bedroom door. “You good?” he asked.

I nodded and followed him downstairs where we ate a quick breakfast. Afterwards, I grabbed a roll of paper from another one of the bags Lise had packed for us, and I was about to fish around for a pencil when I noticed the top part of the roll actually had writing on it.

Slowly, I ripped the small piece off and turned it upright to read the script. Hey, guys, it’s none other than Mademoiselle Lise, it began. Or Hannah, really. If your name is Henri and you’ve found this, give it to Hannah before reading any more. I mean you could, but you probably don’t want to.

I smiled at Lise’s words. She was a brilliant writer, and it felt like she was talking to me through the paper.

So, if you’re reading this now, you’re either Henri and a liar or Hannah. You’ve probably just grabbed paper in the hopes of making a sketch or two for a future map (which I hope you do, because you are really all the rest of us have, and it feels strange to be at the mercy of someone else’s work). Anyhow, I hope you have the utmost luck with the palace. You probably saw the breeches Carine packed you. Those were in part my idea. Well, I don’t want to waste any more of your paper, so au revoir for now! I’ll see you in about a week if all goes according to schedule! ~ Lise Pelletier

“Are you ready to leave?” Henri asked me as I set the slip of paper down.

“I think so,” I replied, brushing my hands along the side of the table. “What are we doing, though? Should I get drawing paper?”

There was no answer, and when I turned around, Henri was nowhere in sight. He must have already left. Assuming I’d need drawing paper, I gathered a small stack in my hands and decided on a pencil instead of a quill.

“Hannah!”

Just as I’d stepped outside, Henri had said my name. I looked left and right, but for the life of me I couldn’t place the voice.

“Hannah! Look up!” A laugh followed his light-toned yell.

I obeyed, and Henri waved at me from his place on the roof. He was leaning off at a dangerous angle, and for some reason, a line of nervous pain shot through me, but I shook it off quickly. “I’ll be right up!” I replied, flashing a grin just as wide as his.

The front door crashed shut behind me, and I hiked up my skirts and ran up the stairs. To get to the roof, I’d have to climb through a window, but I didn’t see that as much of a problem. Henri had managed it fine, so what was to say I couldn’t?

Evidently, my dress. It swooshed and puffed in the wind, and the constant movement of the skirt threw me a fraction off balance. I felt endlessly about to fall, and it seemed to take me twice the amount of time as Henri to pull myself up to the flat rooftop above the window.

Henri reached for my hand and pulled me up the last little bit, and we both settled down facing the Tuileries. For a while, neither of us said anything. We were too mesmerized by the city for our vocal chords to work.

Paris sprawled out forever on all sides, but I wasn’t crowded. The roof made me feel eerily calm, like I was distant from the rest of the city, but still there. The sun was easing above us, and the shadows were slowly shrinking. The entire city was beginning to glow. All of a sudden, I really wanted to come up to the roof at night.

I allowed myself one more mystified blink, but after that it was time to get to work. I knew it didn’t seem like it, but Henri and I had a job to do.

Silently, I pulled a sheet of paper from the pile I’d brought up and began to sketch the outline of the palace against the hedges. Line by line, my drawing began to take shape, and Henri was none the wiser. The Parisian skyline still had him transfixed.

Or maybe not. He leaned against me, his head on my shoulder, and even though he didn’t say anything, the sky talked for him. His warm breaths on my collarbone were calm and steady. I thought he would fall asleep, but his eyes stayed open, watching my hands.

“There are three paths, not four,” he whispered.

My gaze moved from the garden to Henri’s eyes, and he gave me a smile. Shaking my head, I began to correct the drawing.

“It’s true. Don’t give me that look.”

I grinned and shook my head. “Maybe you should make your own, then. We’d get done faster.”

“But I’m comfortable here.”

“Tu es impossible.”

I wasn’t wrong, and he knew that. He replied with a smile, and much to my surprise, this one was not dripping with sass. Instead, he let his eyes close and he relaxed a little more on my shoulder.

Returning to my sketch, I added leaves to the hedges and started on the crenellation on the roof of the palace. The songbirds flying above me gave me a concert, and I allowed myself to dream and draw, blanketed in the symphony of the city.


End file.
